Klutz Part II: America's Condiment
First thing this morning, I rammed my car-door mirror into the wall of our garage. Why should the afternoon be any different? At lunch time, I opened the refrigerator with the intention of simply taking out the milk. Instead, I battled an invisible man armed with a giant-sized bottle of ketchup.
All I know is the ketchup came out of nowhere. I must assume it was lurking in wait behind the milk. Suddenly, I was flailing around, playing roustabout with the condiment, juggling it, tossing it up, catching it, losing it again. It ended tragically: the plastic bottle crashed to the floor and shattered, much like my rearview mirror. Ketchup was EVERYWHERE.
I kid you not when I say giant-sized bottle. We're talking Costco two-pack. Sixty-six ounces of red tomato goodness. That's 4 pounds, two ounces for the mathematically challenged. Perhaps the universe was quietly avenging clumsy stairwell guy. Who knows. Regardless, you have not seen 4 pounds 2 ounces of ketchup until you've seen it on your own kitchen floor, my friends. That's a lot of hot dogs.
All I know is the ketchup came out of nowhere. I must assume it was lurking in wait behind the milk. Suddenly, I was flailing around, playing roustabout with the condiment, juggling it, tossing it up, catching it, losing it again. It ended tragically: the plastic bottle crashed to the floor and shattered, much like my rearview mirror. Ketchup was EVERYWHERE.
I kid you not when I say giant-sized bottle. We're talking Costco two-pack. Sixty-six ounces of red tomato goodness. That's 4 pounds, two ounces for the mathematically challenged. Perhaps the universe was quietly avenging clumsy stairwell guy. Who knows. Regardless, you have not seen 4 pounds 2 ounces of ketchup until you've seen it on your own kitchen floor, my friends. That's a lot of hot dogs.
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